


we follow the lines

by peredhils



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Canon Compliant, Light Angst, M/M, young and in love!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:22:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26690590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peredhils/pseuds/peredhils
Summary: July 7th, 1993 was a Wednesday. Early in the morning—much earlier than he liked to be up, especially in the summer—Richie tumbled through Eddie Kaspbrak’s bedroom window.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	we follow the lines

**Author's Note:**

> wow ... first fic im posting on ao3 in a year! this was written for the reddie zine, [Our Memories](https://www.etsy.com/shop/ReddieZine?ref=seller-platform-mcnav). thank you to everyone at our memories for having me! it was a pleasure. please enjoy!

July 7th, 1993 was a Wednesday. Early in the morning—much earlier than he liked to be up, especially in the summer—Richie tumbled through Eddie Kaspbrak’s bedroom window. 

This was not a rare occurrence, so Eddie only turned into his pillow and groaned. “Rich, Jesus,” he mumbled, “how early is it? What  _ day  _ is it?” 

“Wednesday,” Richie wheezed, rubbing his hand from the slip off the sill. “Little before seven or so.” 

The sheets rustled as Eddie propped himself up on his elbows and blinked into the rising sun. A long time had passed since Eddie asked Richie what he was doing in his room unannounced, uninvited, and at such odd hours of the day. Eddie only looked at him, sitting on his floor, and tried to hide his smile. 

“I was thinking we could go for a drive,” Richie said. He pulled his keys out of his pocket, offering them up to Eddie on his bed. Somewhere during the summer it stopped being about teaching Eddie to drive and just became an excuse to see him, something they both knew without having to say it. 

Eddie’s smile became too big to hide. “A drive,” he scoffed, although he was already moving to get up. “Alright. Where to, you royal pain in my ass?” 

Richie hummed while Eddie dressed, pretending to think on it. “Anywhere,” he answered, laying his head sideways over his folded arms on the edge of Eddie’s bed. Richie watched Eddie as he put on a new shirt, one of Richie’s old faded ones that went missing a while ago, hiding his back from the light of the sun.

“Anywhere,” Eddie said, pulling on a pair of jeans. “Even to the southern tip of Florida?” Richie nodded. “The westernmost edge of the farthest point of California?” Another nod, an easy smile. “How about the north pole?” 

“You can’t drive to the north pole.” Richie’s head lolled side to side, the teasing warm in his voice.

“But still,” Eddie said, looking back at him. 

“Let me get my gloves then. I said anywhere, didn’t I Eds?” 

Anywhere ended up being the cemetery at the edge of town, where Richie had first taken Eddie so he could wind through the long, serpentine roads away from traffic. 

They’d found a spot next to a reflection pool where there weren’t so many graves where they liked to park after a few laps around the cemetery. 

As Eddie drove, Richie leaned his head out of the window. He didn’t normally look at anything while they drove—anything aside from Eddie or some undefined space in the distance while he sang along to whatever they had on cassette—but when Eddie rounded one of the curves, he caught sight of Al Marsh’s grave.

“I miss Bev,” he said without thinking. They hadn’t talked about her in a long time. Eddie’s grip on the wheel tightened. 

“Sorry,” Richie said. He knew how much it hurt to think about. He knew what they all worried about, after she’d gone away, and what they feared it meant for them.

They were quiet again for a while until they parked in their usual spot by the pool. Eddie had turned the radio off and the only sounds were the highway in the distance and the low sounds of summer mornings.

Eddie broke the silence first.

“Do you think we’ll keep in touch?”

The sun was shining on, edging out the cool morning air with summer heat, unfurling around them inside the truck, but the mood turned somber and Richie’s fingertips felt cold.  _ Of course we will, _ he wanted to say.  _ You’re my best friend _ . 

“Will we—will what happened with Bev and Ben …” 

Richie turned his head, staring out the passenger window again. The tree on the other side of the pool was in full bloom. Eddie had gone quiet. There was no answer. They’d watched their friends leave, waved as their cars turned off of their street, and never heard from them again. Calls unanswered, voicemails gone ignored. Then there was the one time—the time Ben’s mother had answered, saying her son had never known any boys from Derry, though they’d been at Ben’s house plenty, had stayed over at his mother’s place more Friday nights than they could count—that they  _ really _ refused to talk about. Something was wrong. But they couldn’t stay here—Eddie had New York, and Richie had Chicago. No matter how much Richie wanted to follow Eddie, he wasn’t accepted to any schools there, no jobs, no internships, no place to live. And Richie knew if he asked, smiled at Eddie just so, tilted his head and said,  _ How ‘bout it Eds? Chicago’s great this time of year,  _ Eddie would give up New York and they’d drive there as soon as they could pack a bag. But even if they did, would they find themselves past the Derry city limits, in the car with a stranger? 

The petals on the tree were pink. Richie remembers. 

Eddie reached over the center console and took Richie’s hand. He turned back to Eddie, trying to hide those thoughts—Eddie was always good at knowing what he was thinking. Instead, Richie thought about how Eddie looked, turned fully towards him, sideways in the driver’s seat, still kind even though he was scared. Even though it was their last summer. Even though Richie would never see Eddie in the sunlight the same way he was then ever again.

They ended up pressed palm to palm. 

Richie wanted to be brave for Eddie.

“Eddie, it’s going to be okay, look—” Richie turned Eddie’s hand over, cradled in his own and traced along the lines with his finger—“our life lines match up just fine. Wherever we’re going, we’ll meet again.” 

Eddie leaned in closer to look and said, “Rich, I don’t think you know jack shit about palm reading.” 

Richie said—seriously, sadly, begging Eddie to just go along with it: “I’m an expert. So don’t you worry. Let me tell you all about you and me.” 

Nodding, Eddie pointed to a line under his pinky. “So then what does this mean?” 

The thing was, Richie did know a bit about palm reading. His sister got a book on how to do it for her birthday some years ago and Richie read it a few times for fun. Now, Richie wished he had burned that book. From what he saw, he realized he didn’t want to look too closely anymore. When Eddie pointed to another line and asked about it, Richie lied. 

He told him he would have an eventful and warm life and that he’d remain in good health. He told him that life would be long and kind and he would be loved, fully. He didn’t lie when he said they would meet again—they would, he would make sure of it. And for what it’s worth, Richie had no idea if that book had any merit, so for all he knew everything he said was true. Maybe it would be true because he had said it. Eddie smiled, though, so he thought it was alright. 

Out of the window behind Eddie, Richie could see the sun shining through the petals of the tree in the reflection pool. Mirrored back, light and movement and color, in the water still as stone.

“What about yours?” Eddie asked. 

“Oh,” Richie said, waving it off. “Didn’t you know Eds? Mine’s just a mirror. My life to yours.” 

“Don’t joke,” Eddie laughed. But Richie meant it. He wished their palms were identical, not one stray line, down to every curve and ending. He wouldn’t mind. Not even a little bit.

In the end, years later, Richie was just happy to have held Eddie’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> more reddie [here](https://www.lunarfuneral.tumblr.com/tagged/my%20fic). title from nick cave


End file.
